


Over The Hill

by Pence



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 00:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7459731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pence/pseuds/Pence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the stress of his job consumes Jack Morrison, he begins to notice signs of age creeping into his features. If the worry over the silver beginning to weave into his hair was bad, the shake in his hands only made combat a nightmare.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Over The Hill

Everyone knew that Jack Morrison was not a vain man.  


It was true that he was the posterboy of Overwatch—a fact he was certain secured him the Strike Commander position rather than his impressive military history—but he did not revel in it. Growing up in a small town and doing back-breaking work on the family farm taught a kid humility from a young age.  


But even now, a grown man with vastly more experience than the scrawny kid shoveling manure from the pig pens, he couldn’t help the sickening drop in his gut at the first silver hairs at his temple.  


They were not especially easy to spot and Jack wondered how many times he’d gazed into the mirror only to miss them as they blended into his blond bangs. Disbelief and worry turned his blood cold as he tentatively ran his fingers through his fringe. He was only 29, for fucks sake…  


Was the stress of the job really getting to him that much?  


Well, he wouldn’t be surprised.  


With the recent exposure of Blackwatch’s drastic and often illegal actions, Jack found himself in the line of fire no matter which direction he turned. The media was calling for his resignation. Citizens were staging protests, demanding him charged for war crimes. Hell, even the UN that had originally pressured him into accepting the position were circumventing every action he attempted to take in calming the masses.  


“Do not reveal anything.” “Do not apologize.” “We do what we must.”  


Fuck.  


Confronting Gabriel had been a pointless embarrassment. In the private of this very office, the two men had yelled at eachother from across the room, fury dutifully drowning any other feeling either man might have shared for the other.  


“How can you continue to prattle on about ‘Getting the job done’ when we’re speaking of civilian casualties?!” Jack had exclaimed as he’d slammed his fist to the desk, scattering papers and folders alike from the neat stack that had occupied his ‘To-Do’ tray. There was a lack of time to do any of the deskwork required of him, running from base to base while regurgitating every pretty speech shoved down his throat.  


Gabe had looked almost smug as that same fist had uncoiled to run shakily through blond locks. “Don’t think that I’m pleased with the casualties, Commander, but there would have been far more deaths had we not intervened. Los Muertos cannot be allowed to resurface again and you know that.”  


“A kid died, Gabe.”  


“Yes.”  


“And you consider this a victory?”  


“I can’t control who enters the line of f—“  


“No!” Jack snarled, startling the other man for the briefest of moments before the stoic scowl reformed. Crossing around his desk, the blond man jabbed a harsh finger into Gabe’s shoulder; the older man remaining unflinching “She was in her fucking home, Gabe. Your men fired into her home.”  


Gabriel remained quiet, lips pressing into a firm line as the two men stared eachother down. The rigidness of Gabriel’s squared shoulders revealed everything to Jack, having known the other man since his recruitment into the army as a spry 18-year-old. He could paint the other man’s face with his eyes closed and read even the twitch of his dark brows like an open book.  


It bothered Gabriel, that much was certain, but he was too prideful to admit fault. He’d always been too fucking prideful.  


“I can’t control stray bullets, Jack,” He whispered darkly after a stretch of fuming silence, clenched teeth ushering his words out in a growl. A sick part of Jack took pleasure in the rumble of Reye’s voice, carnal need twinging in his gun at the short response. They were talking of a kid dying, how fucked was that?  


“But you can control your men,” Jack whispered back, hating how tired and defeated he sounded. With a deep, stuttering, he pressed his knuckle and thumb against the lids of his eyes, pushing hard in an attempt to ease the persistent headache he’d been fighting all morning.  


Silence resumed and Jack wanted to scream. He wanted to wring Gabriel’s neck and shake loose the man he’d known years before he’d become Strike Commander and allowed a rift to grow between them. In that moment he needed the Gabriel who had led them through the Omnic war; the leader who would have done everything in his power to evacuate citizens before staging assaults.  


He need the man who would be just as broken at a child’s death as the tired Jack Morrison was today.  


“Your hand in shaking.”  


The strange, soft observation drew Jack from the solace of his hand, drawing it far enough to see the soft quiver in his fingers. He’d been experiencing these soft tremors lately, especially since the public outcry against Overwatch had begun.  


“Hmm…” What could he say that wouldn’t invalidate him and show weakness? He wasn’t blind to the way Gabriel salivated for every misstep Jack took in his job. Anger and envy seemed to be Gabriel’s new partner in Jack’s presence. He wouldn’t give Gabriel the pleasure of showing a single weakness.  


They were both too damn stubborn…  


“Reyes,” He began shortly, ignoring the way Gabriel’s eyes trailed his hands as they stuffed deeply into the pockets of his jacket. “I expect your cooperation with the investigation and the disbanding of Bla—“  


“Fuck off.”  


The yelling had resumed after that and any perceived tenderness was stomped to dust by the barbed jibes exchanged between the two men. In the end, Gabe had stormed from the office, slamming the door hard enough to shatter the glass of the Commander’s door. He didn’t so much as turn his head as he stalked off.  


Which left Jack to the now, staring into the face of a man well past his prime. He could feel the quake resume in his hand as he finally stopped glowering at the silver in his bangs. There was no time to whine and cry about this new discovery.  


He had a letter to write to very angry, very distraught mother.  


Of course it was left to him to try and explain why a child was put into the ground.  


“Fuck.”


End file.
